


How to Be Kind

by greytrashcan



Category: Undertale (Video Game), underswap
Genre: Depression, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Rated M for language, Self-Hatred, Some sexual content and references, also violence, i don't own underswap, this is just a fan fiction of their original idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greytrashcan/pseuds/greytrashcan
Summary: RE-WRITTEN!UNDERSWAP UNIVERSELong ago, seven mages gathered to seal every living monster beneath the earth. An untimely curse for their cruel work turns a mage's life magic into nothing but death and destruction.In 201X, you are the last magical descendant of the mage, the only living black sheep in your family. Desperate to control the deaths around you, your family sent you to Ebott, the origin of your roots.It almost seems impossible to find a cure for magic in a world that doesn't believe in magic, till you stumble into a world that does.And find someone who isn't afraid of death.





	1. How to Be Remembered

**Year 1XXX**

On the outskirts of a war-torn land, where nature found itself a peaceful place to grow without being trampled, two figures huddle close. Under the safety of short, fat trees and scratchy brown cloaks, a trembling human hand reaches out. The brown sack cloth rustles. Slowly, a thin, skeletal hand emerges, and gently encloses the human’s shaking fingers in its palm.

“Who do you think will win the war?” the human whispers, pressing close. The monster looks down at him.

“Humans, undoubtedly.” The monster’s voice is even, but resigned. “We were not designed to fight humans. I am surprised we even lasted this long.”

The human buries himself deeper into his cloak, his dark eyes burning. “I hate this war,” he hisses, “I hate that they make me fight. This is not what I’m made for.” He bites down hard on his lip, as if he could keep his rage at bay. Beneath his feet, the pebbles rattle restlessly. “This is not what my magic is for. I’m a mage. Not a…not a murderer. _”_

“You aren’t,” the monster agrees, running his long fingers down his human’s back soothingly.

“I’m not,” he repeats, but he sounds unconvinced. The pebbles rattle harder, and the earth beneath them jerks, sending the pebbles flying right into the monster’s face. He reels back, and the human shrieks.

“ **OH!** Oh my god, are you okay? I-I didn’t mean to!” The human cradles the monster’s face in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth bone to check for injuries. There’s just a light crack under his eye socket.  

The human’s bottom lip wobbles, and his face crumples in despair. The monster’s eyes widen.

“Don’t cry!” the monster says hurriedly, but it’s too late; the human gives a sob, and fat tears roll down his cheeks like a broken dam. “Hush now, it doesn’t even hurt. Honest.”

“Yes it does, you liar,” the human wails, “you’ve got a crack in your eye!”

“And? Am I disfigured?”

“What?”

“Do you love me less, now?”

 _“What?!_ Of course not, you blockhead!” The human sniffles at him incredulously. The monster smiles, and lets his human scoot closer into his arms.

“Then it doesn’t matter.” He rests his chin on top of his human’s soft, fluffy hair. “Do you think the other monsters will make cracked egg jokes at my expense?”  The human’s mouth drops open in horror.

“You tell me if they do! I will make flowers grow out of their ears.” The monster laughs, a deep rumbly laughter, and his human’s lips quirk into a tiny smile.

“I’m sure you will go on to do great things, my little mage.” He presses a soft, devoting kiss on the inside of his human’s wrist. Instead of turning red, like he used to, his human looks at the patch of skin he kissed.

“What if tomorrow is our last day?”

The monster frowns at the empty, defeated look in his human’s eye. He brushes a stray tear away, and combs his skeletal fingers through his human’s hair. He learnt that it was soothing.

“Then we’ll worry about it tomorrow,” the monster says, holding his human tightly.

 

The last day came the day after.

Humans had gathered every single living monster onto the edge of the town, right to the bottom of Mount Ebott. The monster watched them push away the enormous tarp that covered the entrance to a cave so deep, sunlight barely reached the bottom.

He was afraid. His King was down on his knees, head bowed, and his general knelt next to him. The monsters huddled together, crying for their King. For their fallen general. For their Queen, who stood steadily amongst her people, though her face was grim and pale.

The human general raised his sword. He closes his eyes as his general turns to dust.

Someone was screeching, but he didn’t know who. He couldn’t look. The world was spinning so quick, everyone was turning into a blur of colours. He bent down, feeling the soft grass under his fingers. It reminded him of his gentle human. His human who makes tender roses blossom in blazing heat and grass grow in cracked soil.

The spinning slows.

“And so these foul beasts shalt be sealed within Hell’s mouth, under the living earth where they belong!” The human general holds his sword above his head, dust lining the edges. An excited murmur starts within the humans. “Aiding humanity are seven of our best mages, gifted with god’s great ability, to banish these monsters back to where they came from!”

The monster looks up, and stares into the stricken eyes of his beloved.

 

The crowd roars, and it sounds like a beast trying to swallow him whole. He feels the magic thrumming from the ground, like a mass of hands, dragging him towards the entrance bottomless cave.

From his place on the ground, he can see his human crying underneath his hood. His magic wraps gently around his ankle, tying his bones to the earth. Tying him down to his human.

He’s moving slower than the other monsters, who drop into the cave one by one. Children are wailing as they scrape roughly across the ground, their parents screaming for them. He’s so terrified, terrified of what awaits them at the bottomless cave. Where he’ll never see the sky, never feel the grass beneath his feet, or the warmth of the sun on his bones.

He looks up, and watches his human’s tormented expression, dripping with tears. His soul wrenches.

At least, his human will be here to enjoy them. He will not implicate his human in this.

He reaches for the invisible thread of familiar magic, running his finger along it, and bends down to press a last, longing kiss.

 _Let go_ , he mouths. His human bows his head further, shoulders shaking. The strings tying him down tighten painfully. There’s dampness on the monster’s face. _Rain? At this time? How apt,_ he curses bitterly. Maybe there wouldn’t be rain under the earth either.  

Suddenly, the crowds are parted as a screaming human barrels out in the opening. A woman, her fair hair tousled and matted, her face contorted in rage. Other humans restrained her immediately, forcing her to the ground. 

“Give me back my child!” She thrashes on the ground wildly. “My child!”

The general snorts loudly. “It is not your child! It is a demon tricking you into thinking you are its mother!  Get a hold o’the crazies before she disrupts the mages!”

Her wild eyes shift to the mages, and in a burst of adrenaline, her magic forces the humans off and sends them flying back.

“A witch!” The general hollers, spit flying from his rage. “Get that damned witch!”

The witch points her alder wand at the mages, and six hoods look up in alarm.

“If you don’t know how to use your magic for good,” she rasps, her eyes shining in cold, simmering fury, “Then you should have a gift far more suitable to your sins.”

Her wand sparks, then crackles. The humans tackle her to the ground, but the magic has been fired from her wand.

The mages move out of the way, alarmed, all except one who was not looking.

The monster’s warning comes too late. His mage, his human, is knocked off his feet, the witch’s magic diving into his chest. His magic distorts, and disappears.

The binds around the monster’s legs are free, and his body starts to drag across the grass and into the cave’s gaping mouth. His love lies very still and limp on the ground, his body twisted in a strange way.

An anguish twists his soul like nothing he’s ever know. He tries to claw his way forward, the tips of his bony fingers splintering as he fights, clawing like a monster possessed. The damned rain makes the grass beneath him too slippery, and blurs his vision.

A pair of human feet appear before him, and as he looks up, something hits him hard across his face. He hears the bone across his eye socket crack.

Faltering, his grip slips and he’s yanked backwards, falling into the bottomless pit.

His unbroken eye sees the circle of sky above him, growing smaller and smaller as he falls. It’s a bright, bright blue, the colour of periwinkle blossoms.

It wasn’t raining at all.

* * *

Papyrus opens his eyes.

His mouth feels like it’s been glued together, his body soaked in sweat. That nightmare makes him feel both drained and on edge, adrenaline pumping through him. Even though it's been recurring every couple of weeks, he never gets used to it.

He grimaces as he slowly peels himself off the mattress, reaching out blindly for his orange hoodie. Burying his face in it, he tries to calm his breathing, like how he was taught. Hold it in for eight, seven, six, five…

The door bursts open, and Papyrus exhales, growling. His little brother is hopping in the doorway, the biggest grin in all of monster history splitting his skull into two.

“Sans, what did I tell you about knocking?”  
  
“IT’S FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON!” Sans retorts, giving quick, excited tugs at his blue bandanna. “And you gotta get up!! Rightaway!” He sticks his tongue out. “And put on a shirt before General Alphys sees you.”  

“What? Why’s she here?”

“Why else, Papy?!” Sans’ eyes are shining so bright, they could double for headlights.

**_“A human fell from the surface!”_ **

 


	2. How to Be An Adventurer

**On the last chapter:**

Papyrus opens his eyes.

His mouth feels like it’s been glued together, his body soaked in sweat. That nightmare makes him feel both drained and on edge, adrenaline pumping through him. Even though it's been recurring every couple of weeks, he never gets used to it.

He grimaces as he slowly peels himself off the mattress, reaching out blindly for his orange hoodie. Burying his face in it, he tries to calm his breathing, like how he was taught. Hold it in for eight, seven, six, five…

The door bursts open, and Papyrus exhales, growling. His little brother is hopping in the doorway, the biggest grin in all of monster history splitting his skull into two.

“Sans, what did I tell you about knocking?”  
  
“IT’S FOUR IN THE AFTERNOON!” Sans retorts, giving quick, excited tugs at his blue bandanna. “And you gotta get up!! Rightaway!” He sticks his tongue out. “And put on a shirt before General Alphys sees you.”  

“What? Why’s she here?”

“Why else, Papy?!” Sans’ eyes are shining so bright, they could double for headlights.

**_“A human fell from the surface!”_ **

* * *

****

**Year 20XX**

The train carriage smells distinctly of stale cigarettes and food. Clutching your bag to your chest, you shut your eyes tight and pretend to sleep, trying to ignore how Sister Ann eyes you suspiciously from the edge of her book. Her stiff black tunic rustles as she places her book down.

“Do you need the lavatories?” Her voice is proper, but distant, and it grates on your nerves. You shake your head, eyes still shut. You can feel the disdain radiating off her, and you wish she’d go off to the toilets and leave you alone.

Shutting your eyes doesn’t help you calm down. Instead, your mind just conjures up the last image you had of your father before you boarded the train. He was stern and stiff-lipped, mud-brown wool vest drawn tight across his chest as he straightens his back to speak to Father Eloise. The train platform was busy, and the crowds rushing by hardly noticed you curled up against the wall, next to a crumpled, badly stitched shoulder bag.  It contained what few personal belongings you had, the rest of your clothes dumped into hard, leather suitcase.

“Here.” You flinch as your father swings his arm out at you, but he’s only holding out your suitcase. You stand up gingerly, and carefully take the handle without touching him. Even though your thick mittens barely brush against his skin, he shudders, and dumps the suitcase at you quickly. It drops, the sharp edge scraping your calf, and you scramble to hold it upright.

You didn’t think anything would hurt you anymore, but your traitorous eyes sting with tears, and you can feel your nose twitching furiously, trying not to cry.

“May God help you,” he mutters. “This is your last resort. If you can cleanse the devil from your damned rotten soul and leave it in Ebott where it belongs, perhaps my home will be welcome to you again.” Your bitter laugh is lodged in your throat, and it may as well be, because you had no doubt he’d whip your wrist with his belt. Your arms tingle just thinking about it.

You are quickly introduced to Sister Ann, your chaperone for the train ride. She looks to be a stern, unmoving old woman, and her grey eyes scan you with obvious distaste. You shrink under her gaze.

Your father does not say goodbye.

When you look out of the train windows, he’s watching you with furious eyes, as if he’s daring you to run off the train. Father Eloise is the only one who gives you a wave as the train jerks, starting to move.

You feel your father’s searing glare even after the train has left the station. His resent for you sinks into your skin, and you feel like letting the cushioned seats swallow you whole, letting you disappear from the world. But you know, deep inside, he has every right to hate you as he does. Anyone would hate you, for what you did.

For killing your own mother.

* * *

 

The car ride from Ebott station to the church was a blur. Sister Ann was blunt and silent, never speaking more than a few words to you at a time. Somehow, you’re grateful for that. She could have spent the journey reminding you of your sins, calling you names. There is nothing she could have thought of that your family hasn’t said, but it still stings every time you hear it.  

The dormitories in the church were narrow and dusty, resembling a broom closet more than a bedroom. You had a single room to yourself, but even the toilets in your house were bigger than this. Everything was made of creaky, hammered together wooden planks.

After your luggage was set down on the floor, you barely had space to stand.

Sister Ann peers from outside the door, setting a bucket and mop down outside.

“Clean up after yourself. Dinner will be at five.”

She shuts the door on you, and you realise how dark the room is. Three in the afternoon, and you still had to turn on the light.

Heaving your suitcase onto the bed, you try to unpack what you had. It was almost a blessing in disguise that you didn’t have much, because there wasn’t much space for your things at all.

A brown paper bag crinkles, buried in the corner of your suitcase like it’s been hastily stuffed in. Your brows furrow in confusion. You don’t remember packing something like that. Sliding your mittens off, you pull the bag out. It feels soft and squishy, and the paper bag is waxed, its logo stamped with gold. Your brows raise even further. Tipping the bag open, a pair of leather gloves fall out. They are slightly worn, but look warm and luxurious, the insides lined with soft white fur.

There’s a card with it, in thick, embossed paper. Did you father forget this wasn’t yours and packed it with the wrong bag? You’re certain nothing this nice would ever have been yours.

But the card is addressed to you.

 

_To my precious first-born on her coming of age,_

_Many happy returns, my child. I have saved these gloves for the day you were born, and today they happen to be an ironic but fitting gift._

_I hope you can find happiness someday. Until then, may these gloves protect those around you, and may you find forgiveness in your heart for the life I’ve put you through._

_With God’s blessings,_

_Mother_

For your coming of age. That was last year, when your mother passed, and the year was filled with nothing but a flurry of police investigations and funeral arrangements. No one remembered your own birthday, not even you. It was like the world stopped revolving the moment your mother died, cemented by the grief of your family and your betrayal.

The breakfast dishes were still on the table, uncleared, untouched. A crime scene. Everything is coming back to you vividly.

Suddenly, you can’t breathe. The narrow room is closing in on you, and everything is too small and dark and there’s no air–  

Stumbling out of your room, you let your feet bring you down to a window, any window where you could _breathe._ Most of the windows are locked, and your fingers are trembling too much to lift the stubborn latch.

A sharp yell of your name makes you jump, and you turn around in a panicky haze.

Sister Ann is staring at you incredulously.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, I.” You look around desperately, and spot the thick forest from the windows. It surrounds the dormitories. “I was wondering if I could take a walk outside.”

“We are miles away from civilisation,” Sister Ann warns, clicking her tongue. She thinks you’re trying to run away. “No point going anywhere.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” you croak. You can barely hear your own voice over the thundering of your heart. “I just wanted to…to walk in the forest for a bit. Father used to encourage me.” Where did these lies come from? And they ran off your tongue so easily, almost genuinely. “To get me out of the way,” you whisper, and that trump card moves Sister Ann immediately.

“Well.” She folds her arms across her chest. “No one goes to these forests anyway,” she relents. “But if you are not back by five, we will not save dinner for you. This is not a hotel.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say automatically, hiding your twitching fingers behind your back. You feel cold sweat sliding down the side of your temple, and how Sister Ann does not realise you’re freaking out is completely beyond you.

“Well, come along then.” She struts easily ahead of you, and you try not to pant too obviously, sucking in your breaths whenever you can. There’s a door at the back of the kitchen, surrounded by nothing by forested land. Sister Ann steps aside for you. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, so try to be back by nightfall, at least.”

She leaves before you can anything, clearly not wanting to be near you as much as possible. You glance back at the empty kitchen uncertainly, but your body pushes you forward.

The grass rustles softly as you wander into the forest, and there’s a chill to the air. You’re grateful for your usual layers for once. You can’t help but notice that the forest is unnaturally quiet. Besides the occasional whistling of the breeze, there’s not a single birdsong or animal cry. The tall metal fences that surround the church seem to extend to the forests as well, wrapping around them as far as the eye can see.

Almost like, it’s keeping people out.

Or keeping something _in._

You shake your head fiercely. You’re thinking too much.

You walk till your legs ache, and the further you go the quiet the forest seems to get. A strange, anxious feeling curls inside your gut, and though its not as loud and terrible as the panic attack earlier, its loud enough to grab your attention.

You settle down on a tree’s thick roots, rubbing at your sore feet. You can’t help but check your surroundings even when the forest is so silent, you’d hear a mouse crossing. Carefully, you peel your mittens off, and slide out the crumpled card from your pocket. You smooth a finger over the ragged cursive, over the grooves where the pen nib pressed a little too card into the creamy paper.

_‘may you find forgiveness in your heart’_

You read and reread the words, but they don’t make any sense to you. Your mother is asking you for…forgiveness? Even though she has never been as cruel as your father and siblings, she has always taken his side. Always shouting at you, begging you to stop. As if you could control it.

It has always been there, ever since you were a toddler. Your mother has told you, repeatedly, how she found the devil in her child, sitting on the lawn swing. There was mud in your hair, mud on your hands, and the new family dog lying limply in your arms. You were still running your chubby fingers over it, petting it carefully, while a dark circle of dead grass started spreading from where your little foot was dangling, toes brushing the ground.

It would be a nightmare for any family. It was hell for a strict, religious family, who tried to pray away the witch’s curse in their first child. Your parents screamed at each other, day and night, in between priests and Fathers and famous exorcists. Wealthy as they are, money couldn’t pay for a curse to be taken away.    
  
_“It was from your side of the family! I should have listened to my grandmother and stayed the hell away from your devilish kind! You’ve tainted my baby!”_  
  
_“Me?! How the hell was I supposed to know?! It hasn’t happened in my family for over a hundred years, and suddenly in the twenty first century I’m supposed to know my own goddamned child is a fucking witch?!”_  

Faith, love and a large dose of guilt that kept them from abandoning you. To save their marriage, it was easier to blame you, than it was to blame each other. Each day they thrived upon pretending you didn’t exist, which meant the obvious curse in their lineage didn’t exist, either.  

But blood is blood, and if there was a God, he has chosen you to carry the sins of your ancestors. None of your sisters or brothers have even an inkling of magic.

Strangely, your parents loved acting like you could control it if you tried hard enough. You’ve never could take it back. Why wouldn’t you, if you could? Why would you prefer to watch your family treat you like a monster? To hear your siblings calling you a murderer?

Your breath hitches, and your tears make the words on the card turn into a big blob of blue. You want to crumple up the card and throw it away, but you find yourself tucking it into the safety of your jacket. You don’t know why you’re holding onto it, but it’s better than holding nothing at all.

The forest is turning to a dull orange when you stand up again, the tall trees blocking out the last rays of the sunset. The path back is darker, and your eyes squint to focus. Your legs still hurt, and you stumble back, unused to being out for so long.

Something catches on your foot. You try to catch yourself, and your shoe lands directly in a square of slimy moss. You gasp, bracing yourself for impact against the ground, but you’ve never expected the ground to give under your weight.

By blind, desperate instinct, you reach out and grab onto a root growing out of the ground. Oh god, this must be a bear trap or something, because the hole is so large and so deep, you can barely see the bottom. It was covered up by a layer of moss and dirt, and it was completely invisible. Until you fell on it.

You found your voice, terrified as you are, and a scream bursts out of your throat. You scream for anyone and everyone who could hear you, your mitten hands scrambling uselessly in dirt and soil. Has karma finally caught up to you? Were you about to pay for your sins?

The root snaps, and you drop so fast your screams are knocked out of you.

_Pouff!_

You blink as blue, glowing things are flung into the air around you, cushioning your fall. What the heck was that? Fireflies? Oh god, did you land in a **nest** of fireflies?

Squealing, you throw yourself upright, ignoring the jarring pain in your right foot. Brushing off as many of the blue glowies as you could, you spend a second shuddering until you realise they aren’t bugs.

They’re flowers. You’ve landed in an incredibly thick bed of large, glowing flowers. _How lucky._

Something rustles in the bed of flowers. _Or not._

You flinch as one of the blue, glowy flowers unfurls before you, taller than the others. Can flowers move like that? The flower turns its head towards you, and in the centre, a strange, goofy looking face smiles up at you.

“hOI!”

You shriek, stumbling back. The flower swings around, the face looking alarmed.

“dOn’T bE sCaRed!!” It has a voice. Glitchy, off-sounding, and kinda mechanical, but a voice nonetheless. _Lord above, were you dead from the fall? Is this the afterlife?_ “I’m tEMMIE! I’m yOur nEW bESt fRiend!”

You stare at the flower incredulously. It’s face is kinda pixelated, but it’s still creepy as all hell to see a flower with a face.

“sHy hUMAN, hUH? nO wORRIES!!” It gives a little wriggly dance, which is actually kinda funny if you weren’t scared out of your wits. “jUST tAke oNe of My fRIendship pILLS, aNd yoU’ll be oKie-Dokie!”

Did it say friendship pills? A circle of round, rotating pills cascade towards you. They’re moving far too quick, and you instinctively move out of the way.

Temmie cries out in alarm. “oMG!! yOU didN’t eVen cAtch oNE?!?!”

Slightly embarrassed by its outburst, you give a shrug. Your brain is not processing quick enough. You haven’t even begun to comprehend what was going on.

“iT’S oKIE! tRY aGAIN! hERE we gOOO!”

Obediently, your hand reaches out for one of the spinning pills. Instead of stopping, however, the pill rams straight into you, sending pain radiating all over your body. You gasp, doubling over. What the hell?

There’s a screechy laugh, and the flower’s face has deformed, twisting itself to give you a large, teethy grin. A flower. With teeth.

You feel your bones go soft on you.

It’s popped up near you out of nowhere, and the dreaded white pills are starting to spin in the air. You can feel the heat of them as they gravitate towards you, and you raise a hand to stop it, only to feel your fingers brush against a leaf.

Your bare, mitten-less fingers. You must have dropped your mittens on your way down.

The leaf shudders, and rapidly, black rot starts crawling from where it has touched your fingers. The flower shrieks, reeling back to assess its dying leaf.

“wHAT dID yOU dO tO tEMMIE!!1!!1!” it snarls, melting into pained cry as the rot starts eating into its stem. Its eyes are black, bottomless pits, and it rears forward, demonic mouth open–

And its blasted away by a rolling ball of fire. A literal ball of fire.

You blink, just enough to register that someone is hurrying towards you.

“Oh, my dear. What a terrible thing to do, hurting a poor youth like yourself.” The voice is low and soothing, a man’s smooth timbre.

When you look up, it is not a man.

Your cry lodges in your chest as you stare up at a goat, standing on its back hooves, about ten feet tall. You scramble backwards in horror, and the goat has the audacity to look abashed, rubbing the back of his head. _You were dead._ _Definitely dead._ And in hell. Didn’t they say the devil himself looked like a goat?

“Please be honest with me,” you croak. The goat looks surprised, but sinks to his knees, offering you a hand. He looks almost kind. Was that what the devil did to make you trust in him? You ignore it.

“Am I in hell?”

He blinks, looking startled, before he gives an awkward laugh, his hand retreating. “Depends on what you think of hell as, I suppose.” He looks you up and down. “Though I wouldn’t say you were dead. You look very much alive to me.”

Were you? You press a finger to your wrist. Your pulse was still there, hammering away like crazy. And everything, though completely insane, felt very real. Unless Sister Ann slipped something in your tea, everything, including the rushing pain in your body, is too real to ignore.

“You must have a lot of questions,” the goat says kindly. “I haven’t seen a human fall down here in so long. Why don’t we talk about them over some tea and pie? You look, beggin' your pardon, a little tired.”

Tea…and pie? The devil is offering you tea and pies.

“I’m Asgore. Sorry for the late introduction.”

The devil’s name is Asgore. Your offer your name, and you watch him brighten, repeating the syllables to himself to remember it. He’s still offering his hand, but you shake your head, clutching your bare hands to yourself. You’re not sure if your curse works on him, but you’re not about to offend someone who can throw a fireball at will.

Even though he looks more like an enormous stuffed toy than the devil.

“I don’t like to be touched,” you say softly, and Asgore’s hand withdraws. “I understand,” he smiles, without a trace of offence. “This way, my dear. Oh goodness, your ankle looks a little swollen. Maybe I still have a trace of those honey salves…” he mutters to himself as he guides you through to a little hollow door, carved into the stone.

Despite all your instincts, you follow the not-devil into his lair, even though your heart won't stop pounding. After all, weren’t you already in hell?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! feedback/comments are very welcome :)   
> bored? come chat with me @ greytrashcan.tumblr.com ;)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! thanks for reading :) 
> 
> comments/feedback are very much welcomed! ( O u O )


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